


Drought

by a_very_smol_frog



Series: Precipitation [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Sad, Unrequited Love, no happy ending, past sakuatsu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27753769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_very_smol_frog/pseuds/a_very_smol_frog
Summary: In the middle of a drought all Kiyoomi can do is wait for rain.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Precipitation [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992166
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Drought

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm sorry!

Sakusa’s mouth was dry. There was an ache in his lips, as he dragged his tongue across them in a futile attempt to bring back some moisture to the chapped skin. No amount of water he drank could quench the thirst that clung to the back of his throat, and settled there like sandpaper. 

The heat rolling off the other bodies in the room hung thick in the air around him. Kiyoomi sat on a barstool, leaning against the granite countertop in a space that used to be home, but now couldn’t be anymore foreign. It was sweltering. Sweat beaded on the back of Kiyoomi’s neck and raced down to saturate the soft cotton collar of the burgundy sweater he was wearing. 

It had been a gift. Kiyoomi never thought red was a good color on him, but every time he saw it it reminded him of the echo of a volleyball slapping against the hardwood floors, and a laugh that was all teeth and knives, but made his heart flutter like the unfurling of brand new butterfly wings. 

That same laugh echoed through the air, and it washed over Kiyoomi like a boiling pot of water. Dragging down his skin and igniting every nerve so that he could feel the searing heat as it dripped down to from the top of his head to his ankles. 

He forced his gaze to rake across the crowd of people until he saw a head of untoned bleached hair. That same shade had plagued him for weeks—worming its way into everything from the sunflowers he saw on his morning jogs, to the soft fleece blanket he clutched at night as he prayed that in the morning cotton would have turned to silk, and the lemon from his laundry detergent would have faded into sandalwood and vanilla. 

Atsumu had an arm casually slung around Kita’s shoulders, and Kiyoomi’s skin blistered where he felt the phantom touch. He cracked and bled as Atsumu leaned down to press a soft kiss against a smile wrinkled cheek. He shriveled to a husk when that kiss migrated to a pair of thin pink lips. 

At one point in his life Kiyoomi had held the world, but through the cracks in his trembling hands it spilled out like sand, and now he was left in a barren wasteland full of tumbleweeds made up of distant memories and long lost dreams. 

See the thing was, Kiyoomi had never been _wanted_ before. The unplanned child of parents who were more married to their work than each other. A mental barrier that kept him from doing the normal everyday mundane things most people took for granted. On the court his team needed him, but in the locker rooms it was hasty goodbyes, zipped up bags, and doors swinging closed. 

Kiyoomi was there the same way the wall behind the Mona Lisa is there or the ground under the Eiffel Tower’s feet. There when you need it, and only noticeable when it's gone.

But perhaps he was giving himself too much credit, because he was already gone and Atsumu didn’t seem to notice. Kita had a hand placed delicately on his lower back as they recounted tales from their past with Suna and Osamu. Light spilled in through the large bay window, and spread like honey across Atsumu’s features—sweetening the smile that spread across his face.

No, Kiyoomi was gone and still no one, the only one that really mattered, didn’t notice. 

He knew he was being selfish. All he had done was take and push and bite and snap. He had so gotten drunk off the feeling of having _Miya Atsumu_ at his fingertips that he kept guzzling from the bottle, but now looking at the dry bottom he wished he would have left just a drop to savor later. 

Kiyoomi liked hearing Atsumu beg. He liked whispered apologies against his skin and hush promises pressed against his lips. 

Illuminating the world around him like a brilliant star, an untamed wildfire, a raging summer storm; Miya Atsumu always had all eyes on him, but the only place his gaze landed was on Kiyoomi. 

He had taken for granted that gilded stare, and now Kiyoomi stood in the darkness underneath an inky black starless sky. 

Atsumu was something delicate, tender, fragile. He needed to be watered and caressed in the hushed shadowed moments of the night, so that when the sun rose he could ascend with its rays. Instead, Kiyoomi had pulled a tarp over his head, shrouding him in permanent shade, and overtime he started to wilt. Tarnished and dimed, Atsumu withered underneath his care and Kiyoomi couldn’t blame him for crawling out from under the gloom when he finally saw a crack of sunlight.

Now, under the attention of devoted hands he flourished, and Kiyoomi sat clutching a bouquet of dead flowers. The sundries of something that was once beautiful crunched under his feet. 

Kiyoomi was parched. Every time he swallowed, he felt every scorched breath tear its way down his throat and smolder in his lungs. There was an itch under his skin—he yearned for something just barely out of his reach. Just one sip, the briefest touch to his lips, would soothe the fire that festered in his veins. 

He brought his glass up to his lips, and relished in the burn that crawled down his throat, because it distracted him from the searing heat in his chest that ached every time his heart beat and branded the back of his ribs. 

Kiyoomi was a lost man in the desert stumbling towards a mirage of paradise—except this oasis was real, but the life had already been sapped from his bones; now all he could do was bake in the sand, and with his dying breath wonder what it would feel like to touch the cool water just one last time. 

The brilliance of a blazing smile blackened his skin and even still Kiyoomi savored the burn. It was destroying him—igniting him until he crumbled into a pile of ash. 

Kiyoomi was burning alive, but he relished the flames licking his skin because if he was on fire then the frigid drip of loneliness couldn’t steep into his bones. He let his hunger consume him until it was all that was left—insatiable and gnawing—but better than the numbness that whispered to him from the cracks and corners. 

Maybe one day something would emerge from the ashes, but for now Kiyoomi sat—soot stained and charred—and let his regrets be the tinder for the inferno. He laid in the ruins and waited for rain to end the drought.

**Author's Note:**

> You can come yell at me on [Twitter.](https://twitter.com/a_very_smolfrog)


End file.
